The Past is Still Alive
by Because-I-love-to-write
Summary: Sherlock looked at her curiously "You seem fine in my opinion,talking about your past..." "Yes, but on the inside I'm dieing with grief, cant you tell?" her bored look and thick sarcasm was eminent "Touche..." Holmes/OC Watson/OC
1. Chapter 1

Such a bleak day, and yet the bustle on grimy streets of London never ceased to rest. Through the fog and moist air, those who worked never stopped; along with these street workers, the famed Sherlock Holmes to worked. A mystery had presented itself before the genius and since then, he hadn't thought of another subject. Quite intriguing indeed. Five women had gone missing, and not one had turned up; dead or alive. Many believed these to be unconnected, that these people had just left their lives in search of something else. And yet, the ever present detective shut all of these assumptions down.

That was, however, after the body of the first missing pupil was found; in an unpleasant manner. Strung up the London flag pole on the mere door step of council, the good doctor Watson himself concluded this to be a serial killing.

Little was known about these deaths, even after careful investigation by the great detective. This was the conclusion of the public, and of Watson, however, the extensive amount of running that was being done at the moment, showed otherwise.

Holmes raced down the dirtied pathways of the great city in determination. His breathing heavy as he weaved his way in and out of the throng of people, carts, and horse drown carriages. Every now and then running into someone or knocking something over.

His hair awry, and cloths thoroughly covered in muck, Sherlock Holmes made his way onto a newly contracted building. Climbing the make-shift ladder, he bound forward tackling an attacker to the ground, knife flying across the barren room. Watson soon arrived joining in the fray, aiming his attacks at the two smaller opponents.

Close calls and small victories occurred throughout the fight. But overall, they were losing. The biggest seemed untouchable, and all attacks thrown in his direction unfazed him.

This, however didn't stop the detective from trying his best to over throw his efforts. But over time, Watson was over powered and Mr. Holmes was fleeing the scene; or attempting to, until he was pulled back and thrown across the room, landing on his side facing the scene. His scenes impaired, the Englishman was no good for battle at the moment. Shaking his head as to shake the blurry vision which now held his focus, he tried to pick himself up and do something.

His life-long friend was struggling against the hold both assailants had on him, but to no avail. Picking up the knife once more, the beast of a man held it above his head, about to plunge it into the young girl. she could not have been more than twenty and five, but then again, she could have done plenty in that time to get herself killed…..

As his bear like arms reached over the top of his head, time slowed, Sherlock knew he couldn't have any credible effect before he murdered the girl; his mind was racing as he looked franticly around for anything to aid him.

Just as he was about to reach for a piece of pipe strewn across the floor, a gun shot rang out.

Then another

And another

And another

All in all, eight shots hit the attempted murderer. Sending him, luckily, backwards in a heap of lead and blood.

All four men present looked franticly for the shooter, only to see the smoking gun in the hand of a woman. Her face alight with fury and anger that could only be described as containing pure and utter revenge and blood thirsty intentions; gently letting her hand drop to her side she ran to the only other female in the newly constructed premises.

Swiftly falling to her knees and slowly awakening the girl. The distraction of having a woman, nonetheless, beating a man-beast had cast all attention of the two men that stood now loosely holding the good doctor, away and out of mind for the two man team.

Just as reality set in, both accomplices continued their conquest, assuming all bullets were emptied into the largest of the three.

However, they were correct, they seemed quite unaware that they had picked a fight were the odds were immensely against them. Before they had gotten with-in five feet of the young ladies, both were on their backs and in great pain. The reason being a man named Watson and a man named Holmes.

Just as all of this was completed, Scotland Yard on the scene, taking the two into custody and covered the dead with a sheet.

This was and is going to be an interesting case, indeed.

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So what do you think? I'm hoping for 3 reviews before I go on; at least : ) thanks for reading! R & R guys! The more, the faster I write; though saying that brings up if you never review…. hmmmmmm


	2. Chapter 2

**Contrary to popular belief, I am not from Britain :) just putting it out there…., THANK you for doubling my review expectancy, that means a lot, sorry its taken me so long to update, I started this story, and then finals came. I didn't plan that very well…. huh, anyway, I will try and update sooner. **

Silence enveloped the empty space. Homes' eyes never left the form of the shooter. It was easy to tell with the resemblance, the careful concern for the young woman on the floor, and her total lack of regret in her eyes for killing a man in cold blood, the solution was obvious: they were sisters, the one on the floor younger, by about three to four years or so. The eldest, with her raggedy man cloths and dirty exterior seemed to have an air of high class around her. A lack of wedding, or otherwise significant ring on her finger, brings the theory she was once rich, more than likely grew up so, and it was taken at a fairly young age.

The fact she held her gun correctly, and it seemed customary in her callused hands, she has fired it before, one the streets perhaps? Her hair has been recently washed and she does have a lack of smell. Peculiar, highly plausible that this appearance was from the quick trek here; ah, just as Holmes and Watson themselves.

"Could you have the decency to let me in on your ridiculous schemes and discoveries every now and then? I lost Marry because I was a flake, because, I would have to swiftly drop everything to come save your….." Watson dropped his sentence when he recalled he was in the presence of women. It was unlike the doctor to talk in such a way, but he nearly died on several occasions in the last twelve hours and not once had his life-long friend let him in on what was going on. Instead of finishing his sentence he ended with a huff, and went to search for his cane.

As he walked away, well, more so before he could, both ladies approached them.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes, for keeping my sister alive while I found my way here." The taller, obviously older relative said with much respect. Her serious face, and lack of physical contact, such as a hand shake, or even just a nod of the head, was a sign she would have liked to keep this between her sister and her captives.

"Your very welcome, and thank you, for coming to the rescue madam." Watson replied before a word could leave his comrades mouth. His very big mouth.

"Thank you doctor, for assisting my sister during my rescue." She blushed slightly and looked away.

A warm smile appeared on his face and he inclined his head.

"I hate to interrupt this conversation, but I need to take a statement, and you miss, l require your name." an elder man, the head of Scotland Yard conversed with his comrades and excused himself.

"I'm sorry for my impertinence; my name is Alana Van Ness, pleasant meeting your acquaintance Sir, I have heard and read much about your skills." She was sincere, surprising, but not unexpected; after all, he always expected the unexpected.

"And your name miss?" Watson directed his inquiries to the second young lady.

"Vada Van Ness" she inclined her head in respect.

"If I may question… why were they attempting to murder you Miss Van Ness?" Holmes put his hands behind his back and leaned in ever so slightly as if to hear that which he couldn't.

"There was a serial of killings Mr. Holmes, my sister was obviously just another chosen victim." The one called Alana answered; her eyes becoming hard, as she watch Sherlock's every move.

"Aw, I see…" she could tell he wished to say more, but was awaiting additional information.

"If I may be so blunt to end this conversation, but I and my sister must be on our way. Many a things to accomplish after such a day, and much sleep and food needed as well. Thank you again, for saving my sister." She led her sister away from the bustling scene, and placed a protective arm around her.

The youngest turned and smiled, waving at the two men, and quickly took pace with her sister again.

"Watson, what do you think of the two?" his eyes never left the retrieving form of the oldest. He was intrigued to no end, and would have liked to follow their footsteps. Observe every movement she made.

"I believe they are close nit, the youngest has obviously been in this sort of trouble before, but not for concubine related reasons. Possibly family issues, or even a hostage situation; kidnapping her to lure in another. Maybe even her sister." Watson had learned much over the years from the great detective.

"You're spot-on Watson, spot-on. Her sister physique was quite the intrigue. She has many man-like characteristics. Far from a lady. She was protective of her sister, like a father or brother. Giving the idea they had neither growing up. Interesting,"

"Absent father with debts to pay?" Sherlock nodded. His face calculating.

"We will never know by word of her mouth, but I have a feeling the special friend you have just made will be more open to discussing her past."

**Hellofriends**

**Thank you all for reviewing again, it means a lot really :] let me know how this one was :0 again, I will try to update more often. R &R please, pretty pretty please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I OWN NOTHING, **

**More Action**

"Quite peculiar…." Mr. Holms stared out the window of his carriage that he, at the moment shared with the good doctor.

"What's that Holmes?" looking up from his pipe, he studied his lifelong counterpart. He seemed vaguely interested, as he sat quietly, awaiting arrival.

"Oh, nothing at all, nothing to waste your time my good sir," shooting his friend a glare that said without words, 'shut up and tell me,' he adjusted his position in the carriage.

"Something seemed to familiar about both sisters, I don't know what to make of it Watson, as if I met them in an excursion I can't recall making," puffing his pipe once more, and looking deep in thought, Dr. John Watson left him to ponder, as he to, did the same. As odd as it may have been, his friend was right. They were loosely proverbial. But where on God's green earth could they have met them?

Just as one of them was about to make a wild accusation, their stagecoach came to an abrupt halt. Both men were jolted out of their thoughts, and hurled back into the real world.

"What is the matter?" The driver of the coach never responded, only a number of bullets shot into the carriage immediately took their attention and placed it elsewhere.

Both hurriedly escaped the confined space, and made it to opposite ends of the street.

One found it quite ironic that this was the second time in merely hours that they were searching for a shooter. Neither however found the source of the weaponry.

All that was left of their transportation was a mess of fabric and wood. They were lucky, they could have been in the massacre.

Everyone in the streets slowly emerged from their respective hiding places to survey the damage.

But as all seemed calm now, a man came into sight from behind the desolated object, smoking gun in hand. He was almost as large as the one they had fought earlier, and yet, he seemed not as untouchable as the other.

He pointed his gun towards the only doctor on the scene. As he prepared for a fight, he never got one. A breeze of air engulfed him, and the man was on the ground wrestling with someone.

_Holmes, _he thought, however this assumption was false.

Profanities were thrown all through the air, and what was even more shocking, was a few sounded….

Female?

But as soon as this point was brought to the attention of the confused Englishman, at least another fifteen men emerged. They seemed on the opposing side, well, the giveaway was their hostile approach, and their face's etched with a grimace that was characteristic of these types of men. Murder for hire.

He picked himself up, and put into a defensive stance. As he glanced, he saw his comrade do the same.

And so it began.

Punches were thrown, kicks were executed, and head buts achieved, and so on.

Seven men down, eight to go.

Slowly they made progress, and as the men dwindled, it seemed they gained another ally in the fight. However, it was impossible to see the identity of whom.

The woman who had tackled the largest to the ground now had joined in the fight of the smaller, and luckily, less energy consuming opponents.

Nine down, six to go.

The dust in the air seemed to choke all those who fought in it. Making it unclear to what was going on, discombobulating everyone in its grasp. It smelled of blood, and sweat, it looked from the outside to be a mosh pit of fighting and anger.

Instinct kicked in long ago, and it was a miracle that the accomplices belonging to Holmes and Watson hadn't been hurt one another just yet.

Slowly, the dust settled, and the attackers either ran, or were face down unconscious on the dirtied ground.

All those involved caught their breath, and as both men looked around, they only saw one woman left in the haze.

Vada Van Ness stood close to a small pile of men that had just recently taken up residence on the dusty streets of East and Canter.

"Why, Miss. Van Ness, where you by chance tracking our movements?" Sherlock Holmes stood up and continued to dust himself of the particles that now incased him in a cover of filth and grime.

"I hate to admit to such accusations, but indeed, I was following you Mr. Holmes, but for reasons I am highly doubtful you are aware," she to, in attempts to look decent, scarped and picked at her clothing, but to no avail, her now damp body made it easy for all of the earth to cling.

"Enlighten me madam," was his only response. He wished to say that he understood the woman, but he had only met her a measly quarter day ago.

"I am troubled it is not my intention. However, you should keep distance between you and I, or there will be little between you and a fatal bullet I am afraid," she sauntered her way towards him, and stood not a foot away from his stationary position.

"Another time perhaps," he asked, his eyebrows showing his curiosity.

"Perhaps," she took one last look, and approached him, only to turn at the last moment.

Refusing to look back in the direction she was headed, he made his way to his brother by bond, and looked about the ground.

"Watson; what…" but before he could continue, a scream filled the air.

Both snapped their heads in the direction of the blood curtailing shriek to see a woman's corpse laying aside a buildings door. He skin was a blinding white, and her hair had no shine.

Watson deducted from this that she would have to have been killed, a least a fortnight ago, if not longer.

"Case… reopened, my dear Watson…"

**I'm sorry I take so long and my chapters suck, I just am boarded with the beginning that's all, I have some really good twits for the story, and I want to add them, but it will have to take some time to form a base line (accidental rhyme…. Ahaha again) anyways, thank you all for your reviews, they mean a lot!!!! Love you all!**


	4. Chapter 4

The ally way was dark, and there was no sign of life other than my own breathing. I knew this way like the back of my hand, but the eerie feeling was quite outrageous indeed. The moon shone down, but before it could reach my skin, it was blocked out by all that lay above. Terraces, clotheslines, wire and cables, everything that made this empire tick.

Well, used to. The old power lines previously placed here, ran everything from lights to toasters; a symbol of forgotten power, no dubitably the HQ of this man for that very reason.

Shadows ran up and down the walls, the sound of dripping water, and the ever present blinking light fixtures were eminent.

"I see you received my gift," how that voice has haunted my dreams for so long. Eight, eight years of old was when that voice first started to be the materialized devil himself. Everything fit really. He had the voice of the creature, the intentions that the hell keeper would envy, and connection and power that was silent, but lethal in the least.

"If you're so interested in the two, why do you _now_ show it?" I glanced around cautiously. He had that effect on people.

"My dear, you ask as if you will receive an answer," his chuckle was dark, and it sent a shiver up my spine. But like always, I hid it. I pushed down the need to run screaming, and weeping from his very presence.

"We had a deal,"

"Never make a deal with the devil," I whipped around to see his head very near my ear.

Damn, how do I always miss that? My blood boiled, he thought to highly of himself, and he knew it.

"Luckily you're only a close second," he growled from his now face to face position,

"I see we have yet to take control of that tongue of yours. You know how it has gotten you in trouble before love," I hate the nickname, always have. But as he approached, my mind snapped back to the matter at hand.

"I stay on your roster, and they stay off. A deal is a deal, you don't want word to spread of you not being a man of your word," it was important apparently, being a man of your word in this business. I have never really understood. You kill, you raid, you destroy families, and yet, you must be a man of your word. I hated the fact he always was, but I suppose it was a great upside in this situation.

"You have little room to talk," his voice grew deathly quiet, but the growl in the back of his throat that was rising was unmistakable. "You know why I hired you sweetheart, and you have accomplished much for this company. Don't let me exploit your weak spots," he pronounced the last two words carefully and directly. He was one of four-hundred that knew I had only two legitimate weak spots. Neither of which I wouldn't raise the creatures of hell, if something were to happen to any one of them. Damn me and emotion.

The lights stayed flickering, but the sound of water dripping had stopped, I noticed. I took this opportunity to study my mortal enemy. His face was blank, but his eyes twitched some, and his hands shook ever so slightly. I knew him well enough to know he was running two options through his mind: A way to rape me and keep it quiet, or B, a way to kill me and keep it quiet. I have found I always prefer B.

"She came to me, asking about if I had something to do with the kidnapping and attempted murder of her sister," his eyebrows quirk as he expects an answer to his unspoken question.

"Did you?" I stay cool, calm to the best degree I could, however, my composure, I find is getting harder and harder to obtain.

"You would enjoy the insight would you not?" I couldn't argue there, I would very much enjoy knowing his next move days before he made it.

"Good day," I turn on my heel and walk quietly away… don't say it, don't say it….

"Where are you going butterfly?" goodness, is he always this immensely horny?

"You ask questions as if you expect an answer, sir" I spit out the last word with a good amount of venom.

"You will give in one day Elizabeth Packet," his voice faded into the night, and I kept my eyes forward, ragging war inside my self-conscious.

"Never…" it only came out as a whisper, but I would protect my sisters and _him_ fighting till the bitter end.

**.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x**

**Short I know, but it came fast! Twisty, turning, topsy, turvy; he he how was this? Short I know, but imp excited! Review please! I'm hoping to reach 15 by the next time I update…. Sooooo, review if you want updates! Thank you friends!**


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